Alien Nightmare Part II: The Return
by 80sarcades
Summary: The bad news: the aliens have returned to Earth to unlock the secrets of our impregnable defense. The good news: Murphy's Law intervenes and sends the visitors to Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. The really good news: General Hogan and Captain Kinchloe are assigned to investigate the case. Can they solve the mystery behind their darkest nightmares? No, repeat no, slash.
1. Chapter 1

_**Alien Nightmare, Part II: The Return**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome! This is a continuation of 'Alien Nightmare.' **Major** **spoiler** if you plunge ahead, so I highly suggest you read the original first if you haven't already done so. The time is 1947 and the aliens return to pay us a visit_.

_Have a nice day!_

* * *

**Rigel Corolois, Orion Constellation  
Home System, Abraxi Matriarchate  
Earth Year 1947**

It was a time of heady victory.

Her Majesty, trailed by her consorts, appeared on the balcony to accept the congratulations of Her people. The long war had been all but won; except for a few lone holdouts victory was assured.

Celebrations - some forced, most not - reigned throughout the Abraxi Matriarchate. Fireworks and other displays littered the skies of numerous planets in a grand cacophony of bright lights and stellar explosions. The future of the Empire was assured.

Or so it seemed.

Unnoticed by all except for a few, a small frigate streaked through the heavens on the way to a remote destination. The region of space it approached was purposely unmapped; the planet it would soon arrive at did not officially exist.

Yet, despite its primitive nature, it would determine the ultimate fate of the Empire.

* * *

_So this is Earth._

Captain K'yrk sneered disdainfully at the blue-white marble that hovered in the center of her viewscreen. _How strange,_ she thought. _To be honest, I expected a world of horrors. Instead I see nothing more than a primitive mudball. One warship - a scout ship, even! - could destroy this world before the natives realized what was happening._

_And maybe they should._

The warrior-turned-scientist sighed heavily. _However, we have our orders. Distasteful as they are_. She looked at the image of Earth once more.

_How can one world give birth to something so horrible? Moreover: can we find a cure for it?_

She shuddered slightly at the last thought; the video briefing of Doctor D'san's death had been graphic. Even terrifying, to say the least. The might of the Abraxi Matriarchate was unparalleled in known herstory; the defeat of the Sullstan had left the Empire as the most powerful race in their part of the galaxy.

And yet, like a deck of cards, the whole of civilization could be brought down by the most lethal substance known to her kind. A name so horrifying as to only be whispered by those few who had heard of it. A name synonymous with death.

Hershey's.

_Ignorance is bliss,_ she reflected ruefully. _Oh, h__ow wise they are..._

"Now entering Earth orbit, Captain," Science officer S'pok announced. "Cloaking field active. Request permission to begin initial target scans." Her slightly twitching eyestalks - the only outward sign of emotion on her normally impassive face - glanced at her sensor array for a brief moment. "We will have to descend to a lower orbit due to atmospheric interference," she continued. "The planet's composition is...fascinating."

"Make it so, Number One," K'yrk ordered, forestalling a lengthy explanation. She glanced at the satellite-free world once more before her eyestalks swiveled to another station. "Are the stasis tubes ready?" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am," the ship's doctor/third scientist rasped. "Ready for transport." A soft whisper - almost inaudible - reached the Captain's ears. "Sending molecules from one place to another," the voice growled. "It's unnatural..."

"Very well, Ma'koi," the senior officer nodded, ignoring the comment. The medical officer's...odd...thoughts regarding transporters were well known. Ominously, K'yrk had an uneasy feeling about the mission; she resolutely shrugged the silent worry away.

_The sooner we're away from here, the better!_

With nothing else better to do - the scans would take several hours to find the proper candidates - Captain K'yrk turned the command station over to the science officer before she left the bridge.

* * *

Strangely, the Captain's quarters - a private luxury aboard the normally crew-cramped frigate - provided little relief from her worried thoughts. It was difficult enough to be a ship captain at times and even more so when you were on a secret mission assigned by the High Council itself!

And if she should fail...

K'yrk forcefully pushed the negative thoughts away. _We will succeed_, she vowed. _For our sakes, we have no choice._

With that, she brought a holographic file into view. It had become a daily habit ever since the mission started: to review the file on Earth and the so-called Human race. Granted, any detailed information on the inhabitants was understandably limited. However, there were fascinating tidbits here and there...

Her long talons tapped several touchpads on the desk. In response, the figure of an unconscious human male suddenly shimmered into existence above her console. A golden symbol - _some kind of avian?_ she wondered for the umpteenth time - glinted slightly on his brown head covering. As before, she studied him intently to gain some insight into the native mind. According to the mind-scanner - _and couldn't they have at least tried to do a detailed scan? _she silently fumed- he was highly intelligent for his kind. Perhaps even more so.

His fellow prisoners were an eclectic group as well, she remembered. A thief, for one. The chemist. A cook. The communicator. By themselves they meant nothing. As a whole, however...

_It makes me wonder._

_Was their presence just a coincidence...or was it part of something larger?_ she mused. The sensors on the survey ship monitoring that particular area of Earth - _Germany_, she recalled - recorded a large surface explosion soon after collecting its male cargo. Oddly, the prisoners had been traveling in a conveyance on that very night. Unusual, but explainable. The destruction was merely coincidental.

_And not one caused by their 'airplanes', or whatever they are called. Curious._

Similarly, the leader - along with three of his followers - had the word 'sabotage' in their lewdly assorted thoughts. K'yrk glanced up at the hologram once more. W_as that your plan?_ she asked the still figure. To _st__rike back at your enemy while acting as seemingly helpless prisoners?_

It was a ridiculous, even ludicrous thought by any standard. Even so, somehow - and she couldn't explain exactly _how_ she knew - she suspected that was precisely the case. If so, it was an act of courage worthy of I'vanova the Strong herself!

Privately she was even willing to admit that this one had the qualities of a warrior...even if he was a male. With a reluctant sigh she deactivated the hologram. It was just another strange detail to consider on a planet full of oddities. Granted, it wasn't the first time a primitive culture run by males had been found by the Matriarchate. However, it was absolutely unheard of for one to advance to any kind of industrial standard. The few anthropologists who actually knew about the world were practically salivating to examine this new rarity. K'yrk shook her head before a sudden snort of amusement escaped her nostrils.

_There always has to be one oddball in a galaxy of females! And who knows: they have atomics now. Perhaps they'll destroy themselves and solve this nightmare for us!_

With that pleasant thought, she reached for her personal holoviewer. A touch of a button brought an image of her firstborn daughter into focus. For a brief moment she allowed herself to smile.

_My J'anway,_ she thought proudly. _A warrior, following in her mother's footsteps... _Lost in memories, she was startled when the overhead loudspeaker blared into life.

"Captain to the bridge," S'pok's dry tone announced.

K'yrk glanced at the chronometer; only a little more than a hour had passed.

_That soon?_

She deactivated the viewer and laid it on the table before she stabbed one of the lighted touchpads. "Report," she snarled.

"Targets located," the science officer coolly replied. "Standing by for transport."

The Captain closed her eyes for a moment. "On my way," she said reluctantly. Her scaly fingers reflexively closed the link before she rose up from the chair. After a moment's thought she put the viewer in a side pocket of her uniform before heading to the bridge.

* * *

"Targets?" K'yrk growled.

"Here." S'pok put an image of Earth on the main viewscreen before zooming in on one of the northern continents. "The nation-state known as the United States of America. Eastern region...there." Her finger indicated one of the coastal areas. "Two females, traveling in a conveyance."

"Very well," the Captain replied. "Initiate transport when ready."

After a moment, Ma'koi's voice spoke up. "Transport complete," she announced. "Subjects in quarantine tubes; health signs elevated but stable. Shall I prepare the samples?"

"With caution," K'yrk softly warned, menace in her dry tones. The doctor nodded gravely before she left the bridge. The viewscreen was still active; for some reason the close-up images of Earth left her feeling nauseated.

"Viewer off," she ordered. Immediately the offending images vanished. Satisfied, the Captain then turned to her science officer. "It's time," she said heavily. "Report to the Medical Bay to assist the doctor." A faint grin then appeared on her scaly face. "With luck, we will unlock the secret of this...object," she sneered.

"Acknowledged," S'pok said simply, her gaze flicking to her superior for a brief moment even as her talons worked to put her station on standby. With a quick, practiced efficiency she stepped into the turbolift and departed. The Captain, now alone on the bridge, gazed upon the image of Earth once more. This time she narrowed her eyes in determination.

_Soon we will know your darkest secret,_ she vowed. _And then, nothing will stop us..._

With that vow, she quickly maneuvered the ship to a location directly above the planet's largest ocean. Once done, she set the controls to maintain their orbital position before departing from the bridge.

In her haste, however, she forgot one small detail.

* * *

The human females, K'yrk noted, were somewhat smaller than she expected.

_Not to mention pink_, she thought distastefully. _How disgusting!_

Each woman occupied a sealed cylindrical - and thankfully, soundproof - tube that occupied one section of the small medical lab. The younger of the two females was screaming hysterically and beating her fists on the sides of the clear container. The older of the two - _presumably the mother?_ the Captain wondered - was more subdued; she was alternatively trying to communicate with her captors and with her terrified daughter.

In truth, none of the female scientists particularly cared about the primitive women beyond their value as test subjects. Instead, they stepped into the adjoining chamber and donned the environmental suits before proceeding with the next phase of the project.

Doctor Ma'koi carefully, if not reverently, lifted a small sealed tube from an unlocked safe. Inside the clear 'glass' - in actuality, the strongest transparent metal the Matriarchate had devised - lay two rectangular dark objects; the word 'Hersheys' was clearly visible on the top of each block. The three reptilian aliens eyed the deadly substance with careful precision as the doctor carefully inserted the tube into a compartment on the side of the large cylinder.

With a small _hiss_, the chamber sealed shut. A second tube, identical to its sister, slipped into a similar opening on the second cylinder. Only then did the aliens finally relax.

A small fan then pushed the vapors from the Hershey's into the main chambers. Once the humans were fully exposed the genetic scanners began to cast their blue rays onto each of the trapped females. The alien scientists studied the holographic representations of each woman's DNA as it formed over their respective containers. Somewhere in the helix strand was the immunity to the Hershey's; it would only be a matter of time before they discovered the cure.

And they might have been successful in their mission had it not been for the Confederate States of America.

* * *

_Next: Skyrockets in Flight._

_I couldn't resist using female versions of Kirk, Spock and McCoy from Star Trek. Seemed only fitting...though I highly doubt these versions would chase after skirts, LOL! Ivanova (Ivanova the Strong) was one of my favorite characters from Babylon 5. Janeway (J'anway) was the Captain from Star Trek: Voyager. Oddly enough, I thought the Admiral version of her at the end of the series was much cooler:-)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Skyrockets in Flight

**Alien Nightmare, Part II: The Return  
by 80sarcades**

* * *

W_elcome back! Hogan and Kinch begin their storyline in this chapter._

_Enjoy the story and have a Happy New Year!  
_

* * *

**February 9th, 1864  
****Richmond, Virginia**

A chilly, almost biting wind laced the cheeks of Jefferson Davis as he stood on the parade grounds. Oddly enough, he barely noticed the feeling of his numbed skin as he stared curiously at the latest example of Confederate technology.

_When does it stop?_ he wondered sadly. _And where does it go from here?_

Although he hoped for victory, the fourteen foot iron rocket that towered above the heads of the assembled men seemed nothing less than monstrous.

_The Army used a smaller - and quite different - version in Mexico, _he remembered. _However, at least they could _see_ the enemy. This...this is obscene. If successful, this thing will kill people we will never see._

_And yet, we have to use everything in our power to win this accursed war._ He sighed, then silently shook his head in resignation.

"We're ready, sir," an assistant told him. The President of the Confederate States of America mutely nodded in reply before he turned to his aide-de-camp.

"Go ahead," he curtly ordered. The aide quickly pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket before waving it back and forth over his head. Moments later, a man on a nearby platform lowered a torch to a trail of gun cotton and set it ablaze before he scrambled to safety.

With a thunderous roar the rocket ignited and began its climb towards the gray sky. A brown/gray trail of smoke trailed after the ascending missile until it disappeared into the low-hanging overcast. Its intended target - Washington City - lay at the end of its projected flight path. For a moment President Davis wondered it the rocket would make it there.

The seeds of doubt soon sprang into dismal reality. Spies reported no mysterious detonations in the capital city of the Union; the rocket itself seemed to have disappeared to points unknown. Curiously, the President seemed unperturbed by the whole affair.

_It was worth a try, I suppose,_ he finally decided. _Still..._ A small smile then quirked his lips.

_And who knows? Perhaps it actually did hit a worthwhile Union target somewhere!_

He briefly chuckled, amused by the dark thought, before returning his attention to the latest missive from General Lee.

* * *

In one sense, Jefferson Davis was wrong.

Instead of flying towards Washington City the rocket vaulted into the upper atmosphere. The original fuel - a paraffin and nitrous mixture - had been replaced at the last minute with a liquid type developed in secret by a Richmond chemist. It had no real name as such; a later version of the fuel, developed by NASA, would be known as monohydrazine.

Ironically, the Confederate researcher had stumbled onto a propellant that was almost twenty times as powerful as those used in the American and Soviet space races some 100 years later. It easily pushed the missile out of Earth's gravity and halfway towards the moon before its fuel ran out. The now-powerless projectile drifted onward through the solar system even as the nation that created it ceased to exist.

The Confederate rocket, as with the chemist, quickly faded into into the mists of history. However, like all good legends it refused to die quietly.

Eighty-two years later the rocket - tumbling, yet mostly intact - began its final return to Earth. A bookie wouldn't have even bothered to calculate the odds of two relatively small objects colliding in the vast expanse of outer space. Yet, as if drawn by a moth to a flame, the two craft silently approached each other on a collision course.

Proximity detectors on the Matriarchate ship quickly detected the inbound object and sounded the alarm. Unfortunately, due to a glitch, the strident beeping alerted only the empty bridge. Even so, the automatic defenses - energy weapons and shields - stood ready to defend the ship...if only the Captain had remembered to activate them before she left the bridge.

Without warning, the three aliens were knocked to the deck as the ancient missile slammed into the top aft of the ship. The outer armor, designed to withstand energy weapons, buckled and gave way under the sheer kinetic force of the rocket as it smashed its way through the engineering compartments. A jagged trail of yellow fire, soon extinguished by vacuum, trailed in its path before the projectile tore its way out through the underside of the ship.

Captain K'yrk, dazed, shook her head as alarms erupted around her. "Secure the quarantine tubes!" she yelled to a now recovering Ma'koi. "Everyone to the bridge!" She ripped off her suit helmet and threw it aside just as another distant explosion sent her into the nearby wall. Recovering quickly, she grabbed S'pok with her powerful arm and lifted the science officer to her feet before the two of them stumbled toward the hatch. Behind her, the ship's doctor put the human women into forced sleep before following the two other officers out of the lab.

The ship shuddered alarmingly once more just as the alien officers reached the now-darkened bridge to take their stations. Sparks and smoke flew from various consoles; the ship seemed to be on the edge of tearing itself apart. "Status!" the ship's captain screamed.

S'pok consulted her readouts. "Impact with unknown object," she coolly replied. "Engines and hyperdrive off-line! No ships in immediate vicinity."

"Hull breaches, multiple decks!" Ma'koi's voice rang out. "Initiating containment fields!" Clawed fingers rushed over the controls as the two officers attempted to save the ship. As they did so, the artificial gravity fluctuated wildly; K'yrk felt slightly nauseated as her stomachs seemed to lurch upward into her throat. Suddenly, the ship stopped vibrating; the bridge lights, wreathed by smoke, started to turn on as main power was restored.

"Containment fields active. Hull breaches on decks one through fifteen. Structural fields are functioning." Her alarmed eyes took in the data readouts before she looked at her commanding officer. "Life support at 70% and dropping."

"Cut life support to all decks except for the bridge and engineering," she ordered quickly. "Release all unnecessary containment fields and divert that power to the structural forcefields." Her eyestalks then swiveled towards the science officer's station.

"What hit us?" she demanded.

A blue glow outlined S'pok's eyestalks as she looked into her scanner. "Reading debris at 285 carom 43," she announced.

"Asteroid?"

The other officer shook her head. "Negative. Processed metallic shell. Additional object filled with unidentifed explosive material." The science officer glanced upward. "Logically, I can only conclude the object was some type of missile."

"Impossible!" the Captain roared. "The humans do not possess such technology!"

"Given our location, it seems unlikely," her subordinate admitted. "However, once you eliminate the improbable, then the impossible seems logical."

Captain K'yrk glared at the science officer for a moment before her smooth tones switched gears. "Send a distress signal to the nearest fleet units," she commanded. "Advise them of our status and request...assistance." Her teeth visibly ground out the last word.

"Primary and auxiliary communications arrays destroyed, Captain." Doctor Ma'koi regretfully announced. K'yrk successfully resisted the urge to roll her eyes upward in annoyance.

"Then access the shuttlecraft's communicator and contact them directly!" she snapped.

"Impossible, Captain," S'pok's voice dryly sounded. "Shuttlecraft bay also destroyed. Transporters nonfunctional."

"Is there _anything_ on this ship that works?" K'yrk growled, trying to keep her voice level. With a wave of her hand, she cut the rhetorical question off before it could be answered. "Can we restore engine functions?"

"Possibly, Captain," the science officer replied. "According to sensors, two of the pulse drives are destroyed. I may be able to restore partial functions in the one remaining unit...but it will not be enough to remain in orbit." The security officer looked her superior directly in the eye. "Logically, I recommend that we survey potential landing sites and await rescue."

This time, the Captain's snarl of frustration echoed around the small chamber. "Make it so," she ordered.

* * *

**July 5th, 1947  
Somewhere near Roswell Army Air Field, New Mexico**

Captain James Kinchloe blinked slightly at the bright light as he ducked into the cockpit. His dark eyes scanned the desolate landscape beyond the windscreen before he tapped the pilot on the shoulder. The Lieutenant glanced briefly in his direction before removing one of the headphone 'cans' from his ear.

"How much longer?" Kinch asked.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain," the pilot replied. "We're starting our descent now. General Hammond's been alerted."

"Thanks," the former POW said. Without another word he left the cockpit. Behind him, unnoticed, the pilot jerked a thumb toward the rear of the plane and rolled his eyes. The unspoken message caused the copilot to grin. It was bad enough to have a brass hat on board. However, dealing with a uppity colored officer - and a aide-de-camp to boot! -was just a bit too much.

The main cabin was deserted except for a tall man slouched in one of the hard seats. A uniform jacket with the two stars of a Major General swayed back and forth on a hanger nearby; the bill of his cover was draped across the man's eyes. For all intents and purposes he appeared to be asleep.

However, Kinch knew better. "General?" he called out.

Except for a sigh, the other man didn't move. "You know, we're the only ones around," a low voice finally groused. "Would it kill you to call me Rob every once in a while?"

The Captain grinned. "I might, General," he teased. "However, someone has to keep your ego blown up. Might as well be me."

Hogan snorted before he pushed the cap upward with the tip of his thumb. He fixed a stern - yet twinkling - eye on his unflappable aide before a grin cut across his face. "That's low," he chuckled. Both men knew the former POW avoided formalities when possible. "So, where are we?"

"About fifteen minutes out of Roswell," Kinch replied. "We're being met by a General Hammond. You know him?"

After a moment, the general officer nodded. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Bob Hammond. He was two years ahead of me at West Point. From what I understand, he was on Eisenhower's staff until he got sent home for talking too much. I'm surprised he's still a General."

Kinch glanced outside; the barren ground was more distinct now. "Guess we'll find out soon enough." He looked at Hogan with a pensive stare. "What are we going to do if it is true?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the roar of the piston engines. "If it is one of _them_?"

Hogan shook his head. "I wish to God I knew, Kinch," he admitted, shaking his head. "I wish I knew."

* * *

_A/N: In 1947 Earth's orbit, unlike now, would have been relatively free of orbital debris; the first 'space' launch was a V2 rocket in 1946 that traveled just inside the edge of space. Nowadays the skies above the atmosphere are filled with anything from old boosters to copper needles...and (supposedly) a manhole cover blown upward by the force of an atomic test (if it's not in the solar system somewhere). There are a number of papers devoted to *that* one subject alone._

_All of these objects are potential hazards. A tiny speck of paint, for instance, traveling at nearly 18,000 miles per hour left a small crater in the front window of the Space Shuttle Challenger back in 1983. At that speed there's not much that can stop a larger object such as a screwdriver or wrench._

_A good number of generals were relieved (for cause or otherwise) during World War II. These officers were usually demoted back to their permanent (Regular Army) rank as opposed to their temporary rank. The Major General that blabbed about D-Day, for instance, was scheduled to be demoted back to Major before Eisenhower intervened._

_February 9th, 1864 is also a red-letter date in prisoner history...that night, 109 Union officers escaped from Libbey Prison in Richmond. 59 of these men eventually escaped to the Union lines. The Confederate rocket, though cool, was just a Civil War myth...or was it?_

_Back in the late 1970's there was a short-lived TV series called Salvage 1. The pilot plot concerned a salvage operator that used a rocket to salvage the remains of the Apollo moon missions. The rocket itself was powered by a highly explosive fuel called (drum roll) monohydrazine. __I always wanted to use something from that series in a story...even indirectly:-)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. The Investigation, Part I

_**Alien Nightmare, Part II: The Return**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome back! The investigation begins..._

_Side note: although I used a '/' mark in the description of this story (since removed) I would like to say that Hogan and Kinch have no relationship beyond being friends. Thanks to the wonderfully talented **Missy the Least **for pointing the error out!_

_Also, due to a review left in another story, I feel compelled to offer the following warning: This chapter contains one (past tense) minor canon character demise as well as two wholly unnecessary and completely pointless deaths of bit characters whose apostrophic __names will never be repeated. Just keeping you informed:-)_

_Have a nice day!_

* * *

**_The Investigation, Part I:_**

The bright sunlight reflecting off the hot tarmac caused General Hogan to blink several times as he exited the aircraft. A Brigadier General, his silver stars gleaming underneath the desert sun, stood nearby with his aide-de-camp. Parked just beyond them were a set of green-colored cars and their enlisted drivers.

Hogan paused, his eyes taking in the spartan scene, before letting a long breath escape his thin lips.

_I have a really bad feeling about all of this_. Automatically, his force of will propelled him down the short ladder to greet the other officers.

As per protocol, salutes were exchanged. Hogan noted the subtle, yet narrowed, glance General Hammond threw toward his colored aide. Only the presence of the other men - much less the enlisted personnel - kept the senior officer from snapping at the junior one. Verbally, at least.

_He's an Army officer, for God's sake!_ he internally raged. _He was putting his life on the line for me while you were sitting on your butt in a cozy office somewhere!_ Captain Kinchloe, as usual, was unperturbed about it all.

_How does he do that?_

It was another reason - among others - that he admired the former enlisted man. For the moment Hogan put the unpleasant situation aside before shaking hands with his fellow officer.

"Good to see you, Bobby," Hogan said cheerfully before another fact gratefully entered his mind. "How's Claire?"

"Good, as always," General Hammond replied quickly. His eyes quickly darted down to General Hogan's left hand. "Surprised you're not married yet."

"Oh, they try," Hogan dryly replied. In truth - amazing as it was - he had had few relationships since 1945. Sometimes, in his darker moments, he wondered what would have happened had Tiger survived the war.

_But she didn't. She survived everything the Krauts threw at her only to get run over by a truck. A lousy truck!_

_It's not fair. But what is?_

Add to that the nightmares that continued to plague him...

_Let's just say I've been close friends with a beer bottle, Bob, and leave it at that._

"This way, sir." General Hammond gestured towards the nearby automobiles. The driver was nothing if not efficient; the two senior officers had barely made themselves comfortable in the backseat before the car hurtled its way down the airstrip. The two aides, following behind in the second car, struggled to catch up. Hogan eyed them through the back glass before glancing over at his peer.

"So what's the story?" he asked, turning to business. "According to the papers you've got everything from a weather balloon to a foo fighter somewhere out here."

Hammond shook his head. "General, all I can really say is that it's the strangest thing I've ever seen," he said candidly. The Major General raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Is it Russian? Something else?" For a brief moment an image of Marya entered his mind's eye; he just as quickly shoved it away.

_That's the last thing I need right now!_

"No, it's not Russian," the Brigadier General responded. "I can tell you that for sure."

"How do you know?" Hogan pressed.

"Because if it is, we're in big trouble," Hammond's voice replied dryly. The rest of the short trip passed in silence.

* * *

Minutes later, the two cars pulled up before an olive drab airplane hangar. The only thing that separated it outwardly from its nearby brethren were the presence of Military Police - some in jeeps with .30 caliber mounts - that surrounded the large building. Those nearest the Generals snapped to attention and saluted as the officers exited the car. The two aides, meanwhile, finally caught up with their respective bosses. As their car squealed to a stop Hammond turned to Hogan.

"I can have Captain Michaels take your aide on a sightseeing tour," he suggested politely. Despite his calm tone, Hogan picked up the verbal stress on the word _aide_. "This might not be the right place for either of them right now-"

"I trust Captain Kinchloe with my _life_, General," Hogan interrupted quietly, putting his own emphasis on the next-to-last word. "Besides, I'd tell him whatever I saw anyway."

General Hammond stiffened slightly but otherwise showed no other reaction. "Yes, sir," he nodded. With that, the four officers entered the building through the side door. Hogan had barely stepped into the shaded interior when his eyes caught their first glimpse of the object that lay within. He slowed, then stopped; for one of the few times in his life he could say he was completely surprised by what he saw.

The wrecked remains of a blue-green ship - _what the hell else could I call it?_ - lay on the floor of the large hangar. Parts, presumably from the strange craft, lay scattered about in organized rows; the ship itself dominated the large empty space. General Hogan turned to a now-smirking Hammond.

"Like I said, strange," the General commented.

"That's the understatement of the year," Hogan breathed before his voice returned to normal. "Where did you find it?"

"Rancher called it in two days ago," Hammond explained. "We actually caught a break on that one. He and some of his hands were out on a remote section when they saw a trail of debris. The guy actually thought it was one of ours until he saw the crew."

Hogan slowly turned his head towards his fellow General. "The crew?" he parroted.

"Yeah," Hammond said slowly. "They have to be seen to be believed." The Major General raised an eyebrow. He was about to speak when the other officer interrupted.

"Take a look at this." With Hogan and the aides in tow he walked over to one of the lines of debris and to a jagged, almost squarish section of colored metal. He tapped the panel with his wedding ring; a metallic sound echoed loudly around the capacious hangar.

"It looks like metal, right?" he asked rhetorically. "Acts like it too. But if you do this..."

With that, he pushed his hands into the metal plate for thirty seconds before he pulled away. Hogan and Kinch were impressed - even awed - to see the distinct impressions of _handprints_ in the seemingly hard metal. After a few seconds the material returned to normal.

"All of it is like that," Hammond said. "We tried cutting some of this with a blowtorch." He shook his head. "No luck. We can't even leave a burn mark on the stuff."

Hogan whistled softly before he bent down to touch the metal himself. The surface felt almost like cold skin to his disbelieving fingers. To Hammond's visible annoyance he invited Kinch to try his own hand at it before both men stood back up. The senior officer looked at the craft once more.

"And everyone believes this is a weather balloon?" he muttered, shaking his head. The base commander snorted.

"Fortunately, we were lucky," he replied. "That PIO nearly fouled up the cover story but it seems to be holding up now. The only other people that really know are the rancher and his hands. We've talked to them. They'll remain quiet."

"The rancher I can see. The hands, I don't," Hogan challenged. "What's to stop them from walking into the nearest bar and talking their heads off?"

A smug, if not evil, grin crossed the other General's face. "Two of the three were in the Army during the war," he explained. "We told them that the minute they talked we'd recall them to active duty and court-martial them for leaking national secrets. The third wasn't in the service but we put a real scare into him. They'll keep their mouths shut."

Hogan raised an eyebrow at the unorthodox tactics but didn't press the issue. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the alien craft.

"What's it look like inside?" the General asked.

"This way." Hammond led them to the port side of the ruined ship. A steel ramp, its gray surface dully bland against the colored skin, led up into the smashed interior. "Watch the cables," he cautioned, pointing to a nest of long cords that snaked up the ramp before disappearing into the forbidding chasm.

With care, the men entered the alien environment. Dim lights set into the walls - _some sort of emergency lighting?_ Hogan wondered - cast a soft greenish glow on the empty corridors. Oddly, the inside of the ship had a distinctly military feel to it. Strange symbols littered the walls here and there; occasionally a colored door would pop up from the lackluster paint job.

_I guess the aliens aren't real big on aesthetics_, the Major General thought, amused. _This kind of looks like something a low-budget Hollywood show would dream up._

Eventually, the group ended up inside a large circular chamber. Unlike the corridors this room was brightly lit. Portable lights lit the ruined expanse with a harsh, almost blinding glare.

"We think this is the bridge," the General explained. A metallic seat, large and oversized, sat mutely in the center of the room. A number of other seats facing various stations ringed the oval chamber. The ones that caught Hogan's attention were located on either side of the center chair. The first one was stained with what looked like a gallon of greenish paint; the other seat - its mounts sticking lewdly at angles out of the ruined base - lay on its side by a smashed and blackened console.

"At this point we're pretty sure there were only three crewmembers on board," Hammond continued. "All of them were found here. We're continuing to search the area for other survivors just in case."

"What kind of area is it?" Hogan asked.

"Not much to it," the one-star replied. "Mostly scrubland. Some houses here and there." He paused for a moment before going on. "However they were flying it, they came in hard. This one," he said, pointing to the stained chair, "was decapitated by debris. The chair over here - the one on the floor - held the second one. The seat mounts apparently failed and sent the alien into the wall. The third one was knocked out but it's alive. We have it in custody now." He paused for a moment before he pointed toward the center chair. "We think the alien occupying this seat - the one that survived - is the captain. Or whatever they call themselves."

"That's a pretty broad assumption," the former POW warned. "How do you figure that one?"

"Two things," the base commander explained. "First, this seat has no console. All of the others have something before them. Secondly, all of the aliens were wearing some kind of pressure suits. Beneath that, they were wearing uniforms of some sort. The alien we have is wearing a gold colored outfit. The dead ones were wearing uniforms that looked like large red shirts." Hammond shook his head. "Guess rank really does have its privileges," he commented, amused by his dry wit.

General Hogan, his eyes fixed on the green-splattered chair, did not immediately reply. Finally, he began to slowly walk around the shattered bridge. None of the ruined instruments, save for the emergency lighting, were active. On impulse, he pressed what looked like flat buttons. To his disappointment nothing responded. He then looked towards the junior General. "Can we figure these out somehow?" he asked, gesturing towards the darkened consoles. "Find anything we can use?"

The other man shook his head slowly. "The eggheads are hopeful, but..." Hammond shrugged. "I wouldn't bet the farm on it. I'm not even sure if we even have the _ability_ to reverse engineer their technology. Besides which, as far as we can tell, almost nothing works. Hell, we don't even know what powers this thing. The engineering section - if that's what it is - is a total wreck along with the rest of the ship."

"Another question," Hogan prompted before his eyes scanned the ruined chairs again. "What do these aliens look like?"

General Hammond's face grimaced involuntarily with all the look of a man eating a moldy sandwich. "They're not something I'd want to run into," he quickly said. "I can summarize it in three words: green, scaly, and ugly." His lips then tightened into a thin, almost humorless grin. "I used to think my mother-in-law was scary, but this..."

By that point General Hogan wasn't listening. Instead, his knowing eyes met Kinch's even as his mind flashed back to August 1946...

* * *

"You really need to get married, Kinch," Hogan's voice slurred.

The junior officer smiled wanly as he reached for another frosty beer. "Maybe later," he allowed. "Right now I'd rather just play the field and see what's out there."

"Wrong answer. Try again." The General took a long draw off of his own cold bottle before looking his aide in the eye. "You should be out there right now instead of getting drunk with me," he pointed out. "Its Saturday night. Go find a nice girl and paint the town red. Get plastered. Do something."

"I'd rather stay here," Kinch grinned. "The conversation's more interesting anyway."

"Except I'm not wearing a dress," Hogan pressed. The black Captain chuckled.

"You know, I still remember when those ladies came into camp," he remembered fondly. "Sometimes I'm amazed you got away with that. A lot of other things, too." He leaned his head back and drained the brown bottle before setting the glass container on the nearby table. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stay," the Captain decided. "Better company anyway."

The General paused, then nodded. "Thanks, Kinch," he said, his subdued voice grateful.

"Anytime," his aide softly replied. For a long moment they sat quietly. The duty week had been hard enough on them as it was. Finally, the former radioman broke the silence.

"Rob," he said quietly. "Do you remember that night we saw that strange light? Back in '43?"

"Yeah," Hogan quickly answered, his now-sobered senses on full alert. "I remember. What about it?"

Kinch paused. For a moment it seemed as if he was debating to go further. "I have...dreams," he said finally, haltingly. "About the light."

His boss stared at him curiously. "What kind of dreams?"

"I..." The Captain shook his head. "Never mind," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Forget it."

"Go ahead," Hogan said, his eyes meeting the other man's. "I won't laugh. Or think any less of you. We've been through too much for that."

After a pause, Kinch nodded. "Okay," he said. He drew in a breath before releasing it in one shuddering _rush_. "Sometimes, I dream about waking up in a room."

Hogan listened, his impassive face saying nothing.

"I can't move," Kinch continued. "Not at all. All I can do is to stare at this gray ceiling over my head. Every so often I hear this strange noise that sounds like crickets but doesn't." He paused for a moment. "And then, this...I don't know what to call it...monster appears over me. At that moment I wake up." A short, almost nervous laugh escaped his throat. "Crazy, huh?"

"A monster," Hogan repeated dully, his gaze suddenly fixed on the far wall. "With red eyes. Green. Looks like a giant lizard." He glanced over at his aide's shocked face.

"It wasn't a dream, Kinch," he said. Oddly enough, a sense of relief descended over his soul.

_Somebody else knows. _

_Thank God!_

"That's impossible," the Captain muttered, his distracted gaze floating to a nearby lamp as his mind worked through the contradictions. "We didn't leave the truck. How...?"

"It's true," the General interrupted. His brown eyes rose to meet those of the younger officer. "It wasn't a dream," he repeated, the tone of his somber voice echoing around the living room. "I don't know how, but they kidnapped us..."

* * *

_A/N: __Every generation is different, but the 1940's were a completely different world compared to now. I sometimes wonder how a modern child would have functioned back then without electronics...and how long it would take for their heads to explode. (Personally, I bet twenty minutes). A black aide to a white general way back then would have been received with only slightly more enthusiasm than the plague._

_In practice, you can be recalled to active duty by the U.S. Army for a variety of reasons after separating from the service. This is particularly true for those enlisted personnel in the Individual Ready Reserve (IRR) since the military service obligation (MSO) is for eight years. You can serve four years active duty, for instance, and then transfer to the IRR before you finally become a 100% civilian again...in theory._

_Jeeps with weapons mounts were nothing new. Practically everything short of heavy artillery were tested on the frames. However, only the lighter (and smaller) automatic weapons (.30 caliber, etc.) were of practical use. You know us guys: bigger supposedly looks better even if we can't get it to work! _

_PIO: Public Information Officer. A spokesman, in other words._

_Yes, I know: Spock and McCoy wore blue uniforms in Star Trek. However, I couldn't resist a redshirt joke;-)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	4. The Investigation, Part II

_**Alien Nightmare, Part II: The Return  
**__**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome back! Have a great day!_

_Side note: No characters were harmed in the making of this chapter. I think._

* * *

**_Chapter 4: The Investigation, Part II_**

"...however, we have an idea as to why they were here," General Hammond finished. Hogan, still lost in his thoughts, suddenly looked up.

"What?"

"I said, we think we know why the aliens were here," Hammond repeated. "Let me show you." He led the entourage out of the room before threading them through the darkened hallways once more. Their destination, unlike the bridge, was relatively undamaged. Four spartan beds - their dimensions oversized for humans - occupied the forward section of the room. The rear half of the compartment was divided from its brother by a large sheet of transparent material that stretched across the empty space to a dark frame set in the right corner. A metal door, hanging open on its solid mounts, exposed the interior of yet another small chamber. On reflex Hogan rapped on the 'glass' and was surprised to discover that his knuckle impacts made no sound at all.

_Soundproofed? Whatever it is, it's solid._

Two polished cylinders, their tops open, were visible in the rear section. The group followed General Hammond through the room connecting the two halves and into the isolated area. Up close the large tubes were intimidating; a bedlike material within its confines indicated its true purpose. Hogan shivered slightly as the image of a moth in a jar came to his mind.

_In this, we're the bugs._

"Medical bay," the host General commented, unaware of the other officer's silent distress. "We figured that out right off. The first team to explore the ship found a woman in each of these tubes. It took us a while to figure how to get them out; the docs say they were in some kind of suspended animation." He paused, then looked over at his fellow officer before shaking his head. "Sounds like something from a Flash Gordon movie but it's true. I saw it myself. One moment they were like statues; the next they were screaming their heads off."

General Hogan raised a eyebrow. "Who are they?" At that, Hammond glanced at his aide. The dark haired man quickly produced a small notebook from his pocket.

"Eleanor and Jacqueline Pearson," the younger officer supplied. "Mother and daughter. They went missing off of a remote stretch of Route 90 in Florida."

"I'm impressed," Hogan said, surprised, as he returned his attention to the alien objects. "You work fast."

"Luck, actually," Hammond replied. "The mother is the wife of an FBI agent," he explained. "They were returning from a church function when they were, for the lack of a better word, kidnapped. It really puzzled the local cops, too. How does a car wrap itself around a tree without a driver? We're still trying to figure that one out." The Brigadier General let out a long breath before he glanced at the forbidding cylinders once more. "We had to sedate the daughter," he softly admitted. "She wouldn't stop screaming. Hysterical. Frankly, I don't blame her. If I was in the same situation...well..."

The General's voice trailed off as all the men in the room soberly considered the nightmare scenario. For two of them, however, the description was frighteningly real enough to envision.

"And the mother?"

"She's okay. Hasn't given us that much to go on," the other man continued. "Mrs. Pearson said that she and her daughter were driving along when there was a bright flash of light. Next thing she knew she was in that tube. Two of the aliens showed up at first followed by a third one. All of them were wearing those pressure suits I told you about." The officer paused, then continued. "She claimed they were conducting some sort of experiment."

"An experiment?" Hogan queried.

"Yeah," Hammond replied. "For what, we don't know." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe they didn't want to catch a cold." His dry laugh caught in his throat as Hogan gave him a pensive, almost piercing stare.

_Somehow, I doubt that._

The senior General looked around the room. None of the scattered instruments looked overtly intimidating. Oddly, a panel set into the wall intrigued his curious gaze. Despite the alien environment it looked familiar...

_Is that a safe?_

He pulled on it and was surprised when the smooth metal swung open. The barren interior contained a metallic holder with two circular openings. To his surprise, the rack was firmly secured to the bottom of the safe. A soft foamy material lined the inner walls of the strongbox.

_They didn't want anything in here broken,_ he realized. _Why_? He glanced at the cylinders again. _The ladies were sealed up_. _Obviously they weren't going to do anything to them physically. Even at that, the aliens were wearing some sort of protective suits._

He looked back at the safe. _Obviously, t__here was something dangerous in there__._

_But what?_

"So what happened next?" he asked.

"According to Mrs. Pearson, there was some sort of collision or explosion before she was knocked out."

"An explosion?" Hogan said, his voice incredulous. "How did she know that?"

"Something slammed her into the wall of the tube," the base commander explained. "She almost thought the aliens did it at first but they were all lying on the floor. She watched two of them get up and stagger for the door. After that, her next memory was of us waking her up." Hammond shook his head. "Frankly, if it wasn't for the fact that we're standing in this...thing..." He waved his hand around the alien environment. "...I'd swear it was some sort of bad Hollywood plot."

"Yeah," General Hogan admitted, unsurprised that someone else would echo his earlier thoughts. "You're right about that." His eyes absently slid up and down the length of the long cylinders. Minus the people, they were just clear tubes. Occupied, they were cages.

_Why use them?_ Another question - an obvious one - suddenly occurred to him.

"How did you get them open, anyway?"

"Like this." Hammond tapped one corner of a dark glass panel set into the metal base of the table. To Hogan's surprise, the black void suddenly flared to life. Golden lights and strange symbols danced across the now-active surface.

"Runs off battery power, we think," the junior General explained. "No buttons. You just touch it and it works. It took a while for the technicians to figure it out. This one," he said, pointing to a circular symbol within a square, "puts the occupant in some kind of stasis. Or in this case brings them out of it. This other one opens the cylinder..."

As Hammond spoke, Hogan's eyes were drawn to one particular glyph - a stylized triangle, its bottom part missing, with a hollow circle hovering above the point - on the right edge of the panel. Without thinking, he reached out and touched the lighted figure...

...before a hissing sound made him jump back along with the other men. A metal arm, holding a small tube, suddenly emerged from a small opening in the cylinder base. After a shocked pause Hammond found his stunned voice.

"Jesus, Rob!" he breathed. "I thought Claire was going to get my insurance for sure. What the hell is that?"

Hogan leaned down to study the tube. "I guess Mrs. Pearson was right..." he mused. The brownish stuff inside the glass - whatever it was - was congealed in the lower half of the container.

_It's dangerous,_ his mind whispered warningly even as his eyes momentarily flicked to the other cylinder. _I'll bet anything there's another tube in there_, he judged. _Two tubes. Two cylinders._ _Why else would the_ _aliens wear protective suits? _He locked his gaze on the foreign substance again.

_It sure won't win any prizes at the Mad Scientists convention! That much is for sure. _He frowned at the last thought._  
_

_But why does it look so familiar?_

Oddly, a distant bell rang in the back of Hogan's mind. Whatever it was, the elusive memory was difficult to pin down.

At that moment a cold wave of nausea gripped his body in a hot embrace. Beads of sweat suddenly glistened on his brow as he tried to push the sudden taste of bile back into his gut. Somehow, he managed to compose himself before his eyes gratefully located the exit.

"Let's get out of here," he calmly ordered, rising to his feet.

With that, the officers made their way back to the comforting outlines of the hangar. General Hogan studied the jagged shape of the aft section for a moment while his counterpart spoke to a man wearing a white lab coat.

_Why?_ he plaintively asked the silent craft. _Why did you come back?_

_Why couldn't you have just left things alone?_

"You know, I've seen a lot of strange things," a quiet voice commented. Hogan turned his head slightly to see Kinch standing to his left. "But this beats all."

A faint grin quirked the general officer's lips. "This from the man who ran the radio underneath a prison camp. Not to mention getting us that free trip to Paris."

The former enlisted man's eyes sparkled with sudden mirth. "I take my inspiration from officers who start their own Stalag 13 airline and get rid of Crittendon at the same time." He flicked his gaze toward the ship. "Something stinks, General," his humorless voice observed.

"Yeah," the older man breathed. "And for once it's not Klink's violin." His eyes gazed off at the far wall of the hangar as he considered the possibilities. "What's your opinion?"

"I don't think they were scared of us. Humans, I mean," Kinch ventured. "But they were sure worried about something else. You know that first door we passed through to get to those cylinders?"

Hogan nodded.

"Captain Michaels whispered to me that the door had the same kind of controls that were on the cylinder. You know, the ones that lit up?" He made a stabbing motion with his index finger. "That's how they got in. The door looked solid, too. And there were two of them. So if they could seal the rear area off...

"...then why use the cylinders?" the General finished, following the train of thought. "Obviously, they're experienced at kidnapping people. They kept us in a open room when they took us several years ago. Why change tactics?" He breathed a frustrated sigh. "I'd almost say they were testing some sort of weapon. But why? You'd think there would be a whole shipful of aliens, too. Not just three of them."

"That's the part I don't understand," the Captain mumured. "If whatever they're doing is so important then where's their calvary? You think they would have charged in by now. We would've."

"Yeah," Hogan said heavily. "That's what worries me."

"Another thought," the aide pressed. "If the aliens can make people vanish into thin air - either us or those women - then why can't they reverse the process? They could plant a bomb in the White House, for instance. What's to stop them?"

The Major General leveled a somber gaze on his aide as he considered the dismal thought. "You're an evil man, Kinch," he said admiringly. "I didn't think about that. Neither did anyone else. Keep up that good thinking and you'll be a General someday." A wry grin then appeared on Hogan's face. "Besides, you should have suggested the Pentagon. Just think of all the innocent trees you'd save."

Both of the men shared a dark chuckle at that. The Army, as many wags suggested, traveled on its stomach but floated on a sea of paper. Just then General Hammond walked up. Captain Kinchloe reflexively took several steps backward before the base commander opened his mouth to speak.

"Sorry for the delay, sir," he explained. "I told the technicians to take that tube and have the contents analyzed." His gaze then traveled to the alien craft. "You know, the thing might be ugly but it's still impressive," he commented. "Makes you wonder what could tear something like that apart."

"Yeah," Hogan agreed. "Guess we'll never know."

"Actually we might," Hammond said. "I contacted a friend of mine and asked him to send me one of his top guys in accident investigations. Figured it was worth a shot." His eyes then quickly searched the hangar before finding their target; a hand wave sent a man scurrying from a nearby group. "Young kid," the General continued. "First lieutenant. At first I thought it was a joke. However, he knows his stuff."

He watched the young officer approach before he spoke again. "One thing, though," he warned. "He's a bit odd."

Hogan nearly grinned as he image of a certain Sergeant popped into his mind.

_I lived with Carter for nearly three years,_ he thought. _Can't get much odder than that!_

General Hogan watched the newcomer salute. Although the gesture was crisp, there was something a bit off about his appearance. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

_He looks like he'd be more at home in a cheap suit, _the Air Force officer decided._ Add to that an old raincoat..._

"Lieutenant Columbo," General Hammond said. "What have you found out so far?"

"Well, sir, it's the strangest thing," the man began, his voice deceptively casual. "It seems the ship was hit by some kind of object."

"I think we kind of figured that out ourselves, Lieutenant," Hammond's voice said dryly.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," Lieutenant Columbo said politely. Hogan was barely able to resist a cheerful smile. "However, we don't think it was an asteroid, sir. We're of the opinion that a rocket hit it."

"A rocket," the General parroted incredulously. "Lieutenant, are you aware of just how crazy that sounds? You've seen the metal on this thing, right?"

"Yes, sir, I have," Columbo acknowledged.

"And you know we have nothing - I repeat, _nothing_ - that could touch it. Correct?"

"That's correct, sir," the Lieutenant said.

"So where did you get the idea that a rocket brought this thing down?"

"From the television, sir."

General Hammond turned away for a moment while muttering something underneath his breath. Hogan was somewhat sure the words sounded like 'court-martial' and 'idiot.'

"One minute, Lieutenant," the senior General said, holding up his hand. "Perhaps if you'd show us what you mean..."

"Of course, sir," Columbo said, gesturing towards his group. "If you'll follow me this way, sirs, I think we can clear this whole thing up."

The Generals and their entourage followed the strange officer to the wall of the hangar. There an array of strange instruments with flashing lights greeted them; a small screen of some sort was set into a large metal cabinet. The Lieutenant looked at one of the nearby men.

"Barney, can you reset the machine?" he casually ordered before he turned to face the assembled men. "We found this device on board the ship," he began, gesturing to a black rod that lay on top of one of the consoles. "Now you've been on the ship, sirs; you know nothing on there is working. However, I was nosing around on that bridge when I found it."

"Why that particular one?" Hogan asked, cutting his eyes back to the console. The object in question seemed ordinary enough.

"Well, it was glowing at the time, sir. Green. Quite odd, if you ask me sir. So I asked some of these smart fellas here if there was something we could do with it." He raised his hand upward and held it in the air while making his speech. Oddly, the gesture reminded the senior General of someone holding a cigarette.

_In his case, it's probably a cigar._

"I'll admit it had me stumped, sir," the Lieutenant continued. "At least until I remembered what one of the folks at Lockheed told me a while back."

"And that is..." Hogan prompted.

"Well, they were experimenting with trying to record aircraft conversations," Columbo explained. "To put a wire-to-wire reel recorder in a plane so we can listen to the pilot and copilot in case there was an accident. All highly experimental, sir, but it got me to thinking." He tapped the black rod with a finger. "What if this was their version of a recorder?"

Strangely, the idea made sense to Hogan. "So what did you find out?" he asked, his curiosity now piqued.

"Well, the boys here managed to hook it up to this electronic stuff," the younger man said before he waved his upraised hand at the surrounding equipment. "All beyond me, sir, but they're the real experts in all of this. I just found the thing." He glanced over at the man he had talked to before. "All ready, Barney?"

"We're ready, Lieutenant," the man - a Sergeant, Hogan observed - confirmed.

"Okay, go ahead," the odd officer ordered. The enlisted man flicked several switches upward with an audible metallic _snap_. The small screen above the toggles flickered to life.

"We can only get pictures out of it, but that's enough," the Lieutenant explained before another switch was thrown. This time a layer of white dots covered the black and white screen.

"What is that?" Hammond asked.

"Stars, sir," Columbo replied. "Next picture, please."

The image changed. This time, a silver blob could be seen in the upper right hand corner of the glass.

"The last picture was taken right before impact, we think," the Lieutenant said. "Go ahead."

A haze of static flickered for a moment before the image sharpened into focus. This time, the strange object was more distinct. The drab figure that presented itself was now elongated and quite familiar to anyone who had seen a V-2 rocket. One side of the missile was lit up by the bright rays of the sun; Hogan's disbelieving eyes made out three shadowed - yet quite visible - letters against the upper fuselage.

"You have to be kidding me..," he murmured.

* * *

"No one's going to believe it."

The two Generals, now alone, stared at one another for a moment. Their aides stood nearby out of earshot. The investigators, meanwhile, continued their work.

"Most people will probably believe that flying saucer story if you told them," General Hammond continued. "But a Rebel rocket from eighty years ago? No chance!" He paused to collect his thoughts. "So what now?"

"We don't say anything," General Hogan ordered. "When you make your report just say this ship..." He waved his hand towards the alien craft "..._whatever the hell it is_ collided with an unknown object. Better yet, don't even mention it at all."

"That's lying!" the other officer protested.

"No, you're just omitting the truth," the two-star countered before looking at the ship once more. "We already have enough questions about the aliens without opening that can of worms. Speaking of which..." The senior officer's voice faltered for a moment before quickly recovering its tone of command. "Where's the alien?"

"In the old POW camp nearby," Hammond responded; Hogan, surprised, raised an eyebrow. "It's isolated there. I borrowed several companies from Camp Hackswill to keep it under guard." the first man went on. "Even then I'm not sure anything can contain that thing."

"Why?"

"When we first picked up the creature, it was unconscious," the junior General explained. "All we have here are barracks and assorted buildings. Nothing really suitable to hold it except for the stockade and that's too small. Before we could move it into the camp, though, it tried to escape." Hammond visibly shuddered at the memory. "It took at least a dozen MP's to bring it down. Even then, we got lucky. Someone got in a lucky shot with a rifle butt and knocked it out cold. Hasn't been awake since."

"Let's go take a look at it," Hogan ordered. The other officer blanched.

"General," he began, "I'll be honest with you; I get the willies just going near that damned thing. I'd rather not-"

"I'm already here," General Hogan interrupted quietly, his suddenly cold eyes boring into Hammond's. "And I'd like to see it."

"Yes, sir," the brigadier general said reluctantly. Without another word he signaled for the nearby aides to follow them. As they passed the craft, Kinch spoke up for the first time.

"Excuse me, General Hammond," he said calmly. "I have a question, if I may ask. Sir."

The General turned and speared Kinchloe with an icy stare. Oddly, the gesture nearly caused Hogan to laugh out loud.

_Burkhalter could give you lessons in staring down people, Bob!_

For his part, Kinch ignored the glare of death. It only served to infuriate the older man all the more before he finally gave in. "What, Captain?" he growled.

"I was just wondering how the ship got here to the hangar, sir," the younger officer inquired as he looked at the strange craft once more. "It seems a bit big to fit on a trailer." Hogan blinked; he hadn't thought to ask that question. _And it's a good one._

_Which is why I have him around._

Surprisingly, General Hammond also considered the question a valid one. "Two trailers, actually," he brusquely clarified. "And as for how we got it on there, this is how."

He then walked over to the strange craft and wrapped his hands around a cone-like projection that extended outward from the front of the ship. General Hogan watched in stunned fascination as the other man easily lifted that heavy portion of the ship upward before setting it back down on the polished concrete.

"Some kind of anti-gravity system," Hammond explained. "About the only thing on this heap that works. Took only twelve of my guys to lift this onto a couple of modified trailers. Even then, it was tricky." He smilingly narrowed his cutting eyes toward Captain Kinchloe again. "Any more questions?"

"No, sir," the aide quickly answered. Without another word the men walked out of the hangar and to the waiting cars.

* * *

_Next: Captain K'yrk, POW._

_Aircraft recorders (black boxes) were nothing new. The first recorders actually predated the Second World War and would record flight data. A combined voice and data recorder did not see widespread use until the mid-60's._

_**Columbo** was a series of 'you know who did it' murder mystery movies. It paired off the rumpled and simple (police) lieutenant (who appropriately drove a beat-up Peugeot) against someone who thought they would get away with their crime...and (almost) always lost. Peter Falk, who played Columbo, would have been the right age to have been an Army lieutenant in 1947._

_I used 'CSA' (Confederate States of America) for the lettering on the rocket because it's recognizable. It would have probably been more appropriate to use 'CS' for Confederate States...if anything would have been used at all. Having Hogan cover it up inside a cover-up was fun, too..._

_I took a bit of liberty with the television screen. In 1947 television screens would have been around ten inches or so. Wire-to-wire recorders were one of the precursors to magnetic tape; conversations on this medium were recorded on a thin spool of wire. An example of this would be the thread spool on Hogan's Heroes._

_If anyone asks (and someone who is confused will), I did not make an indirect joke about 9-11 and the Pentagon. Just wanted to make that clear. That, along with the Towers, was a horrible tragedy. I sometimes imagine the instigators sitting in hell being pummled by an army of grandmas with heavy handbags for all of eternity:-)_

_Thanks for reading!_


End file.
